


Like Smoke

by Estel



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Nightmares, POV First Person, Vignette, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23015734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estel/pseuds/Estel
Summary: Javier Peña is followed by the hunt for Escobar into his sleep.
Kudos: 4





	Like Smoke

There he was. Standing at the edge of a cliff or a bridge. Maybe it was the edge of the ocean? The edge of a building? In the fleeting dreamscape moments, it didn't really matter.

It was him: Escobar.

He didn't see me, or he wasn't looking. He was staring out over some unknown expanse. Surveying some unknown quarry. His fields, maybe Medellin.

I was immobile. Maybe even invisible. I tried to chase after him. Raise a gun.

Nothing. After all, we aren't truly the masters of our dreams.

Then in slow motion, he turned his head to look straight at me. We locked eyes and with no movement no reason I fell backwards. I fell through the floor, through the walls (if there were any), and through the World. I was plummeting, but I was also somehow drowning in smoke.

Dreams are really fucking weird like that.

When my eyes opened, I was standing in a shitty basement with shitty lighting. It was my second or third bust in Colombia back in 1988 before I knew how far down the rabbit hole went. There were bodies on the ground and a chaotic pile of a few kilos and a few pounds of weed. It wasn’t exactly a big bust.

Then for some reason, Escobar was there again. Walking in and greeting the faceless officers around the room. Taking his time to put his hand on their shoulders and shaking their hands. Not sure what he was so pleased with himself about. It was reminiscent of his acceptance walk to the capitol building.

He squeezed the hand of the guy next to me then turned to face me. His lips parted to say something, but then I was in an empty room.

The specter of the _Rey de la Cocaína_ blurred into a series of fleeting moments: girls in precariously short skirts, _sicarios_ in handcuffs, the hum of a CNP truck under me. The whole dream vanished like smoke into a deeper sleep, but it lingered as a pit in my chest past the veil of night.


End file.
